


Slice of Pleasure

by Misdemeanor1331



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Blow Jobs, Consensual Kink, Consensual Sex, Cunnilingus, Knife Play, Multi, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Smut, Threesome - F/M/M, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-14
Updated: 2020-10-14
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:53:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27013813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Misdemeanor1331/pseuds/Misdemeanor1331
Summary: Theo introduces Blaise and Pansy to a new set of bedroom tools. They’re far from conventional, and the consequences of carelessness are severe, but everything should go fine as long as they listen. And theywilllisten… He thinks.
Relationships: Theodore Nott/Pansy Parkinson/Blaise Zabini
Comments: 14
Kudos: 22
Collections: 2020Kinktober





	Slice of Pleasure

**Author's Note:**

> My kink was knife play. This is my first attempt at a triad fic, so please let me know how I did! Thanks to dreamsofdramione for being a bad influence (so much for Responsible Festing, LOL!), providing the beta help, and making me such a lovely banner that omg I can’t even. <3 
> 
> This creation is based on characters and situations from the Harry Potter universe. No money is being made, and no copyright, trademark infringement, or offense is intended.

**Slice of Pleasure**

Long rays of late afternoon sunshine filter through the bedroom’s sheer curtains. Blaise Zabini sits in the chair closest to the window, lean legs stretched out before him. His expression is neutral, but the rhythmic tap of his fingers against the chair’s arm gives him away. He has never liked waiting: not in a queue, not for his food, and certainly not for his pleasure.

Pansy Parkinson is little better. She stands at the foot of the bed with her arms akimbo, four inches taller thanks to her shiny black stilettos. Her right hip is popped out to the side so her skirt—already indecently short—rides even farther up her thigh.

Theo Nott understands their impatience; he wants to get started, too. The gray canvas bag feels heavy in his hands, weighted with anticipation. But the brown leather straps will remain buckled for at least a few more minutes. They have business to discuss.

“You’re sure?” he asks for the third time.

By Pansy’s dramatic eye roll, one would think it’s the thirtieth. “ _Yes_ , we’re sure.”

Theo looks at Blaise to verify. He nods, silent, fingers still tapping.

“There’s no shame in backing down.” Theo’s fingers tighten around the bag’s handles. He doesn’t want them to say no; he’s been looking forward to this for weeks. But he refuses to force them. Their relationship works best with enthusiastic consent. If neither of them are sure, if neither of them _wants_ this, then it’s not worth doing. “We can stop at any time. And no one has been drinking?”

“Depressingly sober,” Pansy confirms in a deadpan.

Blaise’s eyebrow arches a fraction. “Same.”

Theo understands their annoyance, too. Evenings spent together under the influence are always enjoyable, but tonight’s prohibition is for their own safety.

“Our safeword.” Theo mentally ticks through his list. “Same as usual: the person’s name followed by red for an immediate stop. We’ll discuss if needed and decide whether we should continue or stop for the night.”

“We _know_ , Theo.” Pansy shifts her weight. “This isn’t our first time.”

“Yes, it is.” His voice breaks slightly. “You need to listen to me. You need to…”

How can he explain it to them? The risks involved, the consequences of a mistake.

He glances at the bedside table, where several new items have been added to their standard aftercare selection. A vial of Essence of Dittany. Several rolls of gauze. Bandages of every size and shape.

He doesn’t want to use them—doesn’t intend to.

And if they listen, he won’t need to.

_If_ they listen.

“Please.” Theo meets Pansy’s eyes first, then Blaise’s. “Promise me you’ll obey. That you’ll communicate.”

Pansy looks over her shoulder and crooks a finger at Blaise. He rises from the chair, a graceful unfolding of limbs. His bare feet _shush_ against the thick carpet, his dishabille incongruous when taken against his tailored trousers and fitted Oxford. His hands find Pansy’s waist, his lips her neck. Her eyes flutter closed.

“We promise, don’t we, Blaise?”

He murmurs something that sounds like agreement into her neck.

“Blaise…” Theo needs to _hear_ it.

The man detaches himself from Pansy’s neck long enough to consent. “Yes. Now let’s begin.”

Pansy gives Theo a smug, satisfied smile before turning in Blaise’s arms. She presses her lips to his, the pair losing time in a deep kiss. Theo watches for a moment, and when he starts to swell beneath his trousers, he interprets that as his own sign to begin.

He sets his bag down on the bed and runs his fingers across it, closing his eyes to better appreciate the transition from rough canvas to the warmth of smooth leather. The gold buckles are cold beneath his fingers. A shiver runs through him as he unrolls the bundle.

He opens his eyes to gaze upon the bounty spread before him.

Knives.

Not kitchen knives, utilitarian objects used for meeting the most basic of needs.

Not brewing knives, specially crafted for the fine art of Potioneering.

No, these are _his_ knives.

Each is forged from a single piece of steel, shaped at the molecular level to be exceptionally strong and balanced. Done in the Damascus style, the blades feature the distinct ribbons and whorls of the hammer-welding process. The edges are smooth—human skin does not react well to serration—and the tips are honed to exquisite sharpness.

They’re Muggle tools, untainted by magic. Craftsmanship this fine requires nothing but his attention, and the effort he spends on their care and maintenance—the scrape of the blades across the whetstone, the methodical progression from coarse to fine grit before that final, vital honing—feels more like meditation than work. A study in perfection achieved through practice.

And they _are_ perfect: his knives have never touched anything less worthy than human flesh.

Theo’s fingers drift over the collection, performing a full pass before settling on one.

The boning knife. It has a slim blade and an edge that tapers to a fine point. Light and maneuverable, it’s ideal for separating flesh from bone.

He palms the blade in his right hand and turns to place his left on Pansy’s hip, a silent warning to stay still before he sinks to his knees behind her. His hand drifts lower, across the silk of her skirt and the texture of nylon along her legs. His heart thumps. Even though she can’t see him, he looks up at her adoringly.

This woman knows him. This woman _cares_ for him.

He’s going to show her the same consideration.

Squeezing her leg to steady her, he tilts the blade away from her skin and glides the very tip of the knife along her toned calf, watching with rapt attention as the nylon splits apart. He does the right, the left, then moves onto her thighs. He watches the gooseflesh rise across her skin, and he leaves a kiss in each of the gaps he’s created.

Theo trails his fingers down to tap her knees and nudge her legs apart. When she’s widened her stance, he positions the knife between her legs, angling it to catch the fabric.

The sound of the initial tear makes him throb. He pauses, resting his forehead on her thigh, trying to recapture control.

It’s too soon for this; they’ve only just started.

He takes a deep breath and tips the knife blade up. Pansy stills as it grazes her skin. Theo pulls the knife towards him, leaving just enough space for the tip to travel between the cleft of her buttocks. It skims her ass and slices her skirt.

“That was _Versace_ ,” she hisses as the fabric falls to the floor.

He doesn’t care. Not when her ass is in front of him, perfect and plump. He buries his face in her flesh, nipping and sucking, stroking her through the soaked white lace of her knickers. The hem of her silk blouse flutters over her hips, poorly concealing the white garter belt around her waist.

Pressing his fingertips into her hips, he turns her towards him. When she obliges, Theo tips back on his heels to watch the rotation.

Blaise’s hands support her waist. His shirt is unbuttoned, his belt unbuckled, and everything is hanging loose. He presses the bulge in his trousers against Pansy’s rear and buries his face in the crook of her neck.

Theo’s eyes slide down her body to the treasure before him. He kisses the outside of her knickers, just barely able to taste her.

_He needs more_.

“Hold still,” he whispers against the sodden lace. “Both of you.”

Pansy gasps as cold metal meets the warm flesh of her thighs. Her legs shake, a mixture of excitement and fear as Theo works the blade between her knickers and the tender skin of her mons.

His cock twitches as the fabric begins to give.

Applying steady pressure, he makes sure each thread is cut in its own time. Just for a moment, he pauses and looks up from his work. Pansy’s head rests upon Blaise’s chest. His hands cup her breasts, steadying her as he studies Theo. His eyes are wide, fascinated and shining.

“Don’t stop,” Pansy whimpers.

Theo can’t deny her.

He looks back down and continues his work until she’s bare and shining for him, the scraps of her knickers hanging down over her rear. His tongue delves into her folds and traces the nub of her clitoris. He relishes every twitch.

“Blaise…” she moans.

Theo withdraws. Blaise backs Pansy onto the bed before he sinks between her legs, his forehead appearing just above her thighs. Theo joins her on the mattress. Her blouse is still intact, but Theo rectifies the situation, removing the silk with a single, efficient stroke of the blade.

What he sees beneath blanks his vision.

Straps. An intricate series of white satin lacing, binding her from navel to sternum.

So much to undo. So much to _slice_.

Once again, he is overwhelmed by the feeling of being known. He presses the flat of his knife to Pansy’s jaw and applies enough pressure to urge her face to his. Then he lowers his lips to hers and lets her taste herself from his tongue.

“Thank you,” he whispers. She smiles at him, eyes growing distant as Blaise applies himself to her cunt. Theo takes advantage of her distraction, drawing her arms above her head. He holds both of her wrists with his left hand and pins them to the bed. “Don’t move.”

He starts low on her body, dragging the sharp tip of the blade in a slow line from the top of her pubis. He skirts her bellybutton and watches as gooseflesh breaks over her skin. The boning knife scratches, but doesn’t cut, trailing a white line that turns pink on her pale skin. He reaches the first lacing and pauses before hooking it under the strap and tilting it away from her flesh.

The fabric tears, giving way against the steel though he’d barely used any force. He feels her arms tense beneath his hand. She wants to touch him, but he holds her firm.

“Stay still,” he reminds her. He decreases the angle of the knife, snapping a second tie.

He wants the tip against her body as he slices her bodice away. He wants to ride the line of pressure, indulging in the precision of his control. Pansy’s breath shudders, her chest trembling and catching as she tries not to move.

He takes a third strap. A fourth.

All the while, Blaise is drinking from her like a man deprived. The color is high on her cheeks, her brow pulled in concentration. She’s holding on, trying to focus—to delay. Theo knows she’s close. He presses the knife against her skin a little harder. Takes a fifth tie.

“Theo red. _Red_.”

He lifts the knife at once. Pansy’s body, pinned at the wrists and hips, bows as she comes against Blaise’s tongue. Her cries fill the room, beautiful and breathy, lovelier than any music he’s ever heard. Blaise lets her down softly, avoiding her oversensitive clit, instead peppering kisses along her thighs. When he backs away, his mouth and chin are slick with her arousal. Pansy lies boneless on the bed, limp and, for the moment, satisfied.

“Are you okay?” Theo studies her, looking for any sign of harm or distress.

Pansy turns heavy-lidded eyes to him. “Better than okay.”

“You’re not hurt?”

She shakes her head. “But I need a break. You two take a turn.” She eases herself fully onto the bed, creating a throne amongst the ample pillows. She kicks off her heels, but her nylons and garters, the ruined fabric of her knickers, and the half-torn bodice are still in place.

“Don’t remove those,” Theo tells her, eyeing the intact laces.

She gives him a smirk, a saucy challenge that sends his blood racing. “Or what?”

He doesn’t have an answer, but he knows she’ll listen. That’s who she is: controlling everywhere but in the bedroom, where she’s as subtle as a knife in the hands of an expert.

The bed dips beneath Blaise’s weight. He’s stepped out of his trousers, and the dark pink head of his cock points up from the elastic of his snug black shorts. Theo’s grip around the knife softens as Blaise takes him by the neck and pulls him in for a kiss. His teeth nip at Theo’s lip, and their tongues swirl around each other, the battle for dominance beginning.

They routinely discuss and re-learn each other’s limits. Pansy is consistent: she wants more pleasure than pain, and the line between the two is a stark divide that she is very clear should not be crossed.

The rules are different with Blaise. He is a gourmand of sensation: pleasure, pain, and the space where the two become blurred are all equally welcome. Theo understands this line, rides it himself, so the play between them is always a bit _more_. More pulling and pushing. Love taps that fade over the course of an afternoon. Bites that leave faint, new moon bruises that can be renewed over weeks.

He stills as Blaise unbuttons and unzips him, sliding the trousers down to his thighs. Theo’s hips twitch forward as Blaise sinks a hand between them. Even over the fabric, Blaise’s touch is dextrous, sliding the soft silk of his boxers over the sensitive head of Theo’s cock.

“Lose them.”

And though Blaise is not giving the orders today, Theo can find no reason to argue. He kicks them off, and Blaise immediately pulls him back in. He presses their hips together, the heat of Blaise’s shaft grinding against his own. Theo leans his forehead against Blaise’s shoulder, trying to separate himself from the sensation. Trying to find his center of control.

“This isn’t how this goes.” He catches the ridge of Blaise’s shoulder between his teeth.

Blaise tugs his cock hard in rebuke. “How does it go, then?”

He takes a steadying breath before shoving Blaise away, hard enough to tip him backwards against the pillows next to Pansy, who turns onto her side to watch.

Theo holds the boning knife aloft, the steel flat against his palm. It whizzes across the room with nothing more than a thought, whistling through the air with the sound of a swinging sword. It sheaths itself at the same time a second knife releases. In a matter of seconds, he has swapped a six inch blade for one half the size, but double the risk.

The peeling knife. Its edge is taloned, a vicious curve designed for precision work. Sharp feels like an understatement: the knife is small, but unquestionably dangerous, flashing like a razor as the bedroom candles flicker to life.

Theo holds it out, tests its balance, and Blaise’s eyes darken as Theo settles himself between Blaise’s legs. He starts at the bottom inseam of Blaise’s right leg and moves the blade north. The fine fabric cuts like butter, parting with such minimal resistance that Theo wonders for a moment if the knife is touching it at all.

The inseam taken care of, Theo angles the blade west. Blaise draws a shuddering inhale as the knife point grazes the tender flesh of his sack. He works slowly, conscious of every ridge and valley, of every bulge and retraction. The left inseam goes quickly in comparison, and Theo withdraws the blade to inspect his work.

Blaise’s chest is quivering, his eyes closed, cock still caught in the elastic band. An elastic band that needs to _go_.

Theo dips the knife below what has become the top flap of Blaise’s ruined shorts. The blade presses down, drawing a long scratch up from the base of his cock to the line of his hips. The dark flesh turns lighter, but not a single drop of blood beads from his skin.

The elastic parts with a flick, and Blaise’s cock—long, black, dripping with precum—bobs forward. Theo stills it with the flat of the blade and draws the knife forward, its spine sliding over his length. Blaise watches with glazed eyes, breathing hard, and Theo can see pleasure and fear warring for control.

One slip would end everything. One careless move would change their lives forever.

But Theo isn’t careless. He knows his blades like he knows his own hands, wields them with the dexterity of his fingers.

Once the knife’s spine reaches Blaise’s crown, Theo lowers his mouth to it. His skin tastes salty, hot, the musk of him mixing with the sweet remnants of Pansy’s desire, still an afterthought on Theo’s tongue.

He slides the knife back down, letting it rest at the base of Blaise’s cock. He does not forget about it; the pressure of the blade against Blaise’s skin, the threat of its bite, is an ever-present consideration. But more important to them now is the pleasure. The swirl of his tongue and the scrape of his teeth. The pace and the angle. The ability to swallow him— _whole_.

He feels Blaise approaching completion: a surge of blood that tingles along Theo’s tongue. Hands fist in his hair, press down on the back of his head, and Theo relaxes his jaw as the first of Blaise’s thrusts sends cum spurting down his throat. Blaise keeps Theo still as he empties into him, each pulse of his cock accompanied by a deep moan of pleasure. Theo takes it all, swallowing every drop.

Blaise’s hands fall to the side, his body spent. Theo gives Blaise’s head a final, parting flick, then disengages entirely. Blaise’s cock rests shining and semi-hard on his leg, his eyes full of the hazy approval that Theo sometimes thinks is better than the sex itself.

He crawls up the bed and kisses Blaise deeply, sharing the taste of him. His hips buck forward as Blaise brushes a hand over his erection.

“Shall I return the favor?” he breathes against Theo’s lips.

“Later.”

“Yes, Blaise, don’t be greedy.” Pansy’s hand snakes between them to grab a fistful of Theo’s shirt. “I believe I’m still owed an orgasm.”

She tugs him away from Blaise and kisses him hard. Her lips are soft, the press of her mouth warm against his. Desire fires through him. She knows the effect she has on him, has long understood the depth and intensity of his adoration.

“Lose the shirt,” she whispers.

And he wants to obey. He wants to feel every inch of her. The softness of her skin which pads her firm muscles. The round swell of her breasts after he frees them from the half-ruined bodice. The pebbled warmth of her hardened nipples.

But as much as he wants to please her, he’s conscious, too, of the cost. What the sight of his chest—pale and scrawny, too freckled to be beautiful—would do to her desire. How his arms, which are thin and possess only a wiry strength, must compare to Blaise’s lean, conditioned build.

“Hey.” She tilts his head up with two fingers. Her dark brown eyes are soft with understanding. “Don’t go there,” she whispers. “Don’t leave me now.”

He takes a shuddering breath, but nods. He’ll try, for her.

“I’ve seen you before. I’ve loved you before. Nothing has changed.”

Theo’s eyes flick away as she starts to unbutton his shirt.

“No.” She grips his chin. “Look at me. Watch me.”

He does. And as her hands move slowly down his chest, and she draws the shirt away from his body, he doesn’t see the disgust he always expects. He never has.

Though he still doesn’t understand how or why, Pansy accepts him.

Pansy _loves_ him.

She presses her lips to his collarbone, sealing the revelation into his skin.

His cock bobs as Pansy sits him back on his rear and swings a leg over to straddle him. She loops her arms around his neck and presses their hips close. He can feel the heat of her cunt, the butterfly brush of her lips against his head.

“You had plans for this bodice, did you not?”

The weight of the knife in his hand seems to increase. He lifts the peeling knife, lets her study the devilish hook of its blade.

She seems to know what he wants before asking. She lowers a hand between them, dips her fingers into the well of her sex, and spreads the wetness she’s collected around the head of his cock. She pumps him once, unncessarily: he’s never been harder for her, never wanted her more.

His vision fades as she lowers herself onto him, a slow moan rolling from inside her chest as she stretches around him. He could finish right then, if his pleasure was all he cared about. Her velvet heat and the reality that she has chosen him—that she wants _him_ —is all he needs.

But she needs more, and Theo prides himself on being a generous lover.

He straightens his spine and angles her back from him, sitting up to make enough space to safely maneuver the knife. Bringing it between them, he draws it up, the tip barely skimming the flesh of her belly.

The cut is different, the reaction of the satin ties against the knife more pronounced. Theo can feel each slice of the fabric, and the sensation travels through his fingers and straight into his cock. He feels Pansy’s reaction there, too. The tension in her legs as she holds herself perfectly still. The squeeze and release of her core around his shaft as he cuts through each tie.

The final tie approaches. Theo is taut with anticipation, weighing the strength of his control against the urgency of his need.

Then, Blaise is behind him, pressing against him like a bolster. Theo feels the warm, damp length of Blaise’s flaccid cock against his back, then gasps at the cold press of a blade against his throat.

His hand tightens on Pansy’s hip, stilling her. Carefully, he tilts his head up and back.

The chef’s knife. The largest in his speciality collection, with a broad blade and a drop point. It’s a practical choice, equally suited for beginners and experts. His gaze shifts higher to see Blaise’s eyes glittering down at him, bright with excitement.

“Do you trust me?”

His lover’s hand is steady, but the blade remains angled with cold implication at the delicate skin of Theo’s neck.

How could he not?

Nothing but trust could have persuaded him to climb into bed with Pansy, who he had for so long considered unattainable.

Nothing but trust could have made him agree to include Blaise, whose aloof demeanor hid a man willing to try and give anything for a taste of physical pleasure.

Nothing but trust could have given him the confidence to be with them long-term, to share a bed and a house and a life. Their relationship is more than a mere rebellion against pureblood convention. It is loving, and respectful, and adventurous.

And, yes, deserving of trust.

“I do,” he answers.

“Color?”

Theo swallows, noting the pressure of the blade against his throat. “Green.”

Blaise’s mouth curls in satisfaction, and he draws the knife back one slow inch at a time, the edge whispering against Theo’s skin. He bends down when the knife is gone, kissing the shallow scratch the knife has made.

“Thank you,” Blaise whispers.

His breath is hot against Theo’s neck, and it sends a shiver through him. Blaise chuckles, straightens, and returns the knife to rest against Theo’s throat.

Adrenaline sparks through him from the unexpected acquiescence of control, lighting him up from within. The blade feels sharper, Pansy feels tighter, and his own pleasure feels held by a tie not much thicker than the satin one hovering above his blade. He knows the next cut will be his undoing. And while the temptation to delay—to remain like this forever, perhaps, held at knifepoint between his two lovers—is strong, his desire to release inside of her is stronger.

Theo flicks the knife.

The final tie severs, and Theo’s control goes with it. He sends the knife whizzing back to its case and curls his freed hand around Pansy’s hip, pulling her impossibly lower. She rocks herself forward with a gasp, grinding against him shamelessly, her clit against his pubis, her inner walls fluttering around the head of his cock. And then he’s pumping— _hard_ —his balls tightening as his orgasm pulses into her, filling her completely. She follows him off the cliff, her breasts pushed against his face, crying in wordless pleasure as she contracts and shakes around him. He works her through the near overwhelming sensation, moving her hips with his hands, ensuring she doesn’t miss a single thrust.

They wind down slowly. When Blaise finally removes the knife and Pansy folds forward, her forehead leans against Theo’s shoulder. Her back is damp, heaving. Theo presses a kiss to her cheek, and he warms as Blaise leaves a kiss on his in turn.

“You did so well,” he whispers. Praise seems inadequate against the gift they’ve given him tonight. But right now, profoundly satisfied and surprisingly exhausted, it’s all he has to offer. “Both of you.”

Pansy straightens and lifts herself off him, a small sound of loss sighing from her lips.

“ _You_ did well, Theo,” she says, resting against the pillows. Her eyes drift closed, her body languid and spent. She flinches when Theo gently lays two fingers to her sex, but her tension fades as he mutters a spell. His magic rolls through her, cleansing her for comfort and bringing a smile to her lips.

“Strawberry?” Blaise sets a summoned bed tray between the three of them, laden with a carafe of cold water, a bowl of fresh berries, and a collection of artisan chocolate truffles.

Pansy cracks her eyes and grins at Blaise. She opens her mouth, an answer in the affirmative. Theo gives her water next, holding the glass as she sips from a metal straw. They snack and drink in silence for a few minutes, coming down from the heights of their shared ecstacy.

“Are you okay?” Theo offers a chocolate with the question, holding it out to Blaise with his thumb and forefinger. A rush of affection sweeps through him as Blaise leans close, candlelight sparkling in his dark brown eyes.

“Never better,” Blaise answers, taking the treat with his teeth.

“Nothing for the pain? For the…” Theo looks at the scratch along Blaise’s midsection. His skin is slightly puffed, irritated from the knife, and Theo feels the creeping pain of guilt. How could he have hurt someone he loves so dearly?

Blaise leans in again and presses his lips to Theo’s, easing his tongue into Theo’s mouth and sharing the taste of chocolate.

“I loved it. Let me remember it for a night, please. You can heal me tomorrow.”

Theo hesitates, but eventually nods. Blaise’s expression turns grateful, and he gives Theo a final, lingering kiss before leaning back to take another sip of water.

“And you?” Pansy sits up from the pillows, selects a blackberry, and holds it before him. “Are you okay?”

Theo takes the blackberry before answering, grateful for the opportunity to think.

Until now, Theo’s knives have been instruments of his pleasure alone. He had always wanted to share them, but had never felt comfortable enough to do so. He didn’t want to see fear in the eyes of those he loved most. He had been afraid to expose that most intimate part of himself, only to have it rejected.

But Blaise and Pansy hadn’t feared him; they’d trusted him to maintain control. And they haven’t rejected him. If anything, Theo feels more connected to his lovers now, a bond as unbreakable as the Damascus steel of his knives.

“I’m good.” It’s a massive understatement. By Pansy’s smile and Blaise’s quiet laugh, they both know it, too.

“Good,” she says and kisses his lips. “I’m ready to sleep now. Will you join me, or do you need more time?”

“I’m ready.” Theo’s limbs feel heavy as he looks to Blaise, who vanishes the bed tray with a wave of his hand.

Pansy leans back against the mess of pillows and turns onto her left side. Theo takes his place behind her, curling so that his hips cradle hers. Blaise loops an arm around Theo, settling himself in the same way.

Nestled between the crush of their bodies, Theo feels at peace. He has taken a risk, and has been rewarded with an evening of euphoria. Blaise and Pansy trusted him with their bodies, and he proved worthy of their faith.

Or perhaps he has always been worthy. Perhaps his fear of rejection has always been unfounded, an old lie repeated so often that he’d mistaken it for truth. He has felt shackled by it for years, but tonight…

Tonight, he feels remade, like an old blade newly whetted and ready for use.

**The End**


End file.
